


Heartless

by Onity



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Hallucinations, Major Character Undeath, Mental Instability, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onity/pseuds/Onity
Summary: Anduin Wrynn should’ve learned his lesson with Garrosh Hellscream, but he didn’t, and now here he was personally overseeing the imprisonment of Sylvanas Windrunner, who has been suffering from hallucinations in which Arthas won’t shut the fuck up.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Heartless

-...-

Anduin was the first one to notice Sylvanas escaping. 

In his surprise, he made the quick decision to give chase without alerting anyone else. In the moment, he feared losing sight of her, letting her get away, and thus failing both the Horde and Alliance. He begged for the job of overseeing the ex-Warchief's imprisonment, wanting so desperately to question her, talk with her without the chaos of having Genn or Tyrande there with him. He wanted a chance to figure her out. He couldn’t let her get away.

At the same time, he made a choice against getting help in her recapture, and that would later be a choice he’d regret. He didn’t realize in the moment what he was doing, nor how dangerous it was, he only knew that Sylvanas could fly away at any moment, and if he had a chance at all to stop her, he needed to act on it now. 

He’d chase her outside of the compound she was held in, somehow with not a single soul catching them. It amazed him, to some degree, but at the same time he knew that Sylvanas could sneak out of anything, and he himself didn’t look out of place running. He ran around a lot, especially compared to other kings, and despite his own leg injuries. 

Anduin stopped for a moment to catch his breath upon reaching the beginnings of a forest, watching Sylvanas’ figure disappear slowly into the foggy trees. It was dark, midnight, with the moon high above him. It was actually pretty easy to see this night, the moon brighter then usually, and though Anduin couldn’t really recognize signs from Elune, he liked to think the Kaldorei Goddess was aiding him. 

To be truthful, the young king wanted to catch Sylvanas for many reasons, including it being his responsibility. Deeper, however, the boy wanted to prove himself. He’d failed with Garrosh Hellscream. Even after getting crushed by the bell, Anduin had tried so hard to get Garrosh to see the wrong in his ways. He tried so hard to understand Garrosh. Anduin even saved Garrosh’s life! From Sylvanas! And all he got was the orc attempting to dismember him and tell him his parents would one day wish they’d miscarried him. 

Garrosh didn’t change, and Anduin knew this was largely Garrosh’s fault, but Anduin felt blame on himself. He felt he could’ve done more. He always feels this way. 

Anduin felt a terrible ache in his knees. A warning. His knees usually ache, but never this bad. The last time they ached like this, Calia Menethil died. In his mind, he knew he should retreat. Go back, get help. 

Instead, the king removed some of his large, heavy plate gear, ignoring the pain, pretending it was all because of the weight of the armor. 

With his boots, shoulders, and chest plate discarded, the young king booked it into the forest, following after the Banshee Queen. 

The pain in his knee grew with every tree he passed. 

-...-

His laughing.

His mocking.

His taunting.

He was e v e r y w h e r e.

And he would not leave her alone. 

“It’s funny, really, that you think you can hide from me.”

Sylvanas, in the right state of mind, may have been able to identify this all as a mental breakdown. In the right state of mind, she may have been able to calm herself down, and may have been able to escape imprisonment properly. 

Her plan was to play out the imprisonment for at least a few days. Toy with the dumb lion king, determine what the factions planned to do with her, then ignore it all and continue on with the real work. Continue on with her plans that required more then these stupid tin plate armies, her plans that required her elsewhere. The Shadowlands called, and she had work to do. 

But since arriving to the cell, something had switched. Her confidence, her calm mind, her control, all vanished. 

And then He appeared. 

Arthas Menethil. 

A figure, ghostly, spoke to her, called out to her, made fun of her. And he would not go away. 

He tormented her while she sat in the cell, and that was something she could only take for so long. Hours at most. So she escaped, and in her tunnel vision the only goal she had at this moment was getting away from Him. 

She’d made it deep into the forest surrounding the compound she was imprisoned in, the moon watching intently high above her. There seemed to be no end to the trees, eventually bringing her to a halt. There was no end to Arthas either, as he’s kept up with her the entire time, his voice echoing through her bones. 

“FACE ME!” She screamed, turning on her heels to face the vision. “WE END THIS NOW!”

Sylvanas saw a hint of hesitation as Arthas paused, and if she were in the right state of mind, she would have realized why. She would have realized what lay behind the illusion. She would have recognized the body language. 

She didn’t. 

Arthas chuckled. “But I've already won, Sylvanas.” 

“YOU’VE WON NOTHING BUT AN ETERNITY IN TORMENT!” Sylvanas did not let her voice fall, rushing towards Arthas to attack him. 

Arthas dodged her attack fairly easily, letting her trip and nearly fall onto the ground. She did not, returning to a more stable pose. 

“A similar fate is awaiting you too.” Arthas grinned. “Perhaps we will suffer together.”

Sylvanas growled, sick of this threat looming over her. The threat of death, true death, forever trapped within the hell that she witnessed long ago. 

No, she would not let herself go there. Not again. Not with him. 

“You failed to capture immortality, what makes you believe yourself invincible?” Arthas asked, walking circles around her as she tried again to attack him. 

“I HOLD MORE POWER THAN EVER!” She replied, her voice echoing, deeper, as she channeled a dark power. The same power she used to one shot kill Saurfang. A power borrowed from another… “NO ONE CAN STOP ME!”

“You only have one Val’kyr left, Sylvanas.” Arthas shook his head. “And you are no stranger to dying.”

It was true, she only had one left. It was something she tried to ignore, but was eating away at the back of her head. She couldn’t totally remember how they’d all been used so quickly, she swore she had three before this stupid faction war even began. Four maybe. But now she was left with one. One last chance. One last life. 

And in truth, she really had none. That last Val'kyr was needed to keep her Forsaken alive. Was needed to keep creating Forsaken. 

Had you asked her in the past, she would have told you she’d give up herself for her Forsaken anyday. She would give her life to save them, as she failed to save her people from Arthas before. She was dedicated to them, and it was their wellbeing that kept her in works with the Horde. She loved her Forsaken. They gave her a reason to live. 

Something had changed. 

A selfish desire for immortality began as a want to keep her people alive for a long time, to help in aid in their life span and health. It twisted into a want, no, a need to keep herself alive. And now that she had a job to do in the Shadowlands, she could not die. 

She needed that Val’kyr.

“I won’t need her when I am unstoppable!” 

Sylvanas lashed out at Arthas, her talons reaching to scratch his face off, to push away the ghost of a man. This time, in her attack, Arthas did not step away, instead pushing her back with a barrier of light. 

Had she been in the right state of mind, she’d have noticed that. 

She heard Arthas continue to speak, to call out her name, but her anger grew too much to handle. His words mushed together as she tried again and again to tear apart the vision. The light, again and again, blocked her path. 

The god damned light. 

A bringer of peace, so they say, but all it ever did was burn her and her people. 

“-this, You are losing control, Sylvanas!” Arthas’ voice cut into her again, and everything exploded.

A dark cloud of undeath and shadow appeared out of nowhere, surrounding her and flowing up into her claws. Arthas backed slightly as Sylvanas rose from the grass, her form changing, the banshee forming. 

Arthas was saying something, but her screams were all that they heard. 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

She shot out towards Arthas, the shadows swarming in around him, choking him, flooding him, cutting him from the air. Death seeped into his lungs, and Sylvanas’ screams rattled his bones as she took out vengeance on the vision that tormented her. 

Arthas struggled, but shook off the shadows for just a second, calling to the light. A quick flash burned away the shadows within and around him, but did not catch the banshee off guard. 

“SYLVANA-”

The woman let the shadows rush at him again, letting his movement stumble, his breath catch, and in that millisecond of weakness, she had him. She returned to her normal form, touching down onto the grass beside Arthas’ figure, pulling a small knife from within her boots. She slashed at Arthas’ neck, leaving a bloody gash.

Arthas stumbled back, gasping at the attack, but Sylvanas was not satisfied until his vision disappeared, his ghost gone. 

Whatever Arthas was trying to do to defend himself, he was not fast enough to stop her from kicking him back onto the ground, pinning him down, and stabbing. Stabbing and gashing and slashing and ramming the blade deep within him. 

In the back of her consciousness, she felt the resistance of light, felt him trying to hold on, but her anger, her rage, her despair won out. Her new, stronger powers won out. She won. 

She continued to cut and mutilate Arthas’ upper body until she felt no resistance at all. 

When his voice disappeared and he laid motionless, she sat back against his legs, catching her breath. 

Blood covered his body, and her body, and the grass below. 

It felt wonderful. 

The silence nearly brought her to tears. 

She felt so tired. 

Sylvanas dropped her knife against the grass, standing, looking down at the body of the man who killed her. 

Arthas Menethil deserved to die by her hands, like this, alone in a forest, in pain. It was a shame this was not how it’d really happened. 

The very sight of the man still gave her rage, and while she felt slightly better, she wasn’t done. 

Sylvanas picked up her knife again, kneeling down to cut out the vision’s heart. 

It still beat in her hands, pumping nothing. No blood, not hopes, no dreams. No life. 

She let her talons sink into it, the heart pumping faster, and then stopping. 

How disgusting. 

The woman threw the heart down against the grass, stomping on it, letting the organ break and splatter and turn to unrecognizable mush. She then stepped back and spat on it. 

“You won’t control me.” She growled, glaring at the corpse below her, and then turning to walk away, continue in her escape, before the lion king found her. 

“Can’t i?”

As she turned away from the body, she was stopped again, face to face with Arthas. She gasped, nearly stumbling back. 

“N-NO!” Sylvanas felt tears in her eyes, how awful that he’d return. What had she done to deserve this? Why? Why why whywhywhyw-

“Unfortunately, Lady Windrunner,” Arthas smirked again, meeting her glare, and then looked behind her. “I don’t believe ghosts are known to bleed.”

For a moment she was confused, but then followed his eyes, and turned around to face the corpse again. 

It was not Arthas.

Below her, dead, with his heart turned to mush in the grass beside him, was the lion king. Anduin Wrynn. 

Arthas appeared to kneel beside the corpse, as if inspecting it. He turned to her and continued taunting her with his smile. 

“I’d say wrong place wrong time, but you’ve already got a nasty history with blonde haired light wielding human royals…”

“Shut.” Sylvanas felt the shadows tingle around her talons as she nearly tore her own hand apart in anger. “The. Fuck. Up.” 

Arthas chuckled, then stood up to walk in circles around them. 

Sylvanas stared down at the boy’s corpse, conflicted. In all honesty, She never hated Anduin Wrynn, she never liked him either. Anduin looked like Arthas and reminded her of him so much.. He reminded everyone of Arthas before his fall. She avoided him as much as possible, the boy bringing back horrible memories of the Lordaeron Prince.He may have even been causing her hallucinations, but at the moment that wasn’t something she thought about. 

Anduin Wrynn was essentially Arthas Menethil, had things not gone wrong with Arthas. 

He never fell to torment, to corruption, and while annoying as he was, he did not deserve the fate Arthas did. 

Not that Sylvanas really cared, however. An unfortunate turn of events, but Anduin was nothing to her. 

The woman began to leave, to run, faster this time, as she’d just killed the High King, but Arthas called out again. 

“You’ll regret this.”

Sylvanas stopped again, angry this time at herself for continuing to listen to a hallucination. She fought with herself, trying to tell herself to just book it, leave. But her feet would not move. So she turned around, again, to face the corpse, and to face Arthas. 

“Why?” She scoffed, ignoring the fact that she knew very well why.

Arthas frowned at the corpse, standing beside it. 

“Your plans will fall apart without him.” Arthas said.

Sylvanas continued to glare at him as he continued. 

“You need the boy alive. He is the only thing keeping the Alliance stable, keeping the Horde from the rage of revenge. Without him, the Alliance will continue to attack and will cause not just it’s own downfall, but the downfall of the Horde as well.”

“Why should I care about the Alliance? The Horde?” Sylvanas growled. “I have what I need, I abandoned them for a reason.”

“You need them to fight against N’zoth, and you will need them strong enough to survive so that they can travel to the Shadowlands afterwards.” 

Sylvanas knew this. Yet she did not want to listen. She wanted to run. 

“And,” Arthas walked towards her, “You will need a powerful priest to battle these foes, and to aid you in the Shadowlands.”

Sylvanas shook her head. “The boy sees me as a monster, his aid will never come to me.”

Arthas rolled his eyes. “The boy is willing to give up anything and everything to protect and save his people. The people of Azeroth. Alive, undead, and dead all the same.”

Sylvanas walked slowly over to the corpse, her distaste for it growing the closer she got. His blood was slowly drying in the winds, his face looked deathly pale in the moonlight, and was getting lighter. His eyes were wide open. 

Fear. She saw fear. 

“Too bad,” Sylvanas grumbled. “I have nothing left to bring him into undeath.”

“You have a Val’kyr.” 

Sylvanas refused to even look at Arthas, a hallucination, an echo of her inner thoughts, or not. 

“I need her.”

“You need him.”

She hated the words he said, refused to believe them, but knew that she needed Anduin alive. Anduin was a big pawn in her plans, only just now realizing this fact. This would not fall apart completely, but would force onto her much more work then she wanted, should he die and stay dead now. 

Should her plans in the Shadowlands work, she would not need the last Val’kyr…

This was a risk. 

“A risk you will take.” Arthas spoke, his voice and her own thoughts joining. 

Sylvanas stood before the corpse, calling to her side her last Val’kyr. The winged being appeared before her, confused, but listening. And on her command, the Val’kyr did as told, without question. Without hesitation. 

Sylvanas watched as the corpse below her was infused with a life force that Sylvanas had hoped to use for herself. 

The bright glowing light of the Val’kyr disappeared into the boy’s body, Sylvanas feeling the spark of undeath within him, but her nerves still growing. 

There, it was done. She turned to leave. 

“You failed your people again,” Arthas still spoke. “You gave up their future for that of another royal huma-”

“SHUT UP!” Sylvanas yelled, refusing to turn to face him. 

Arthas laughed at her, and continued.

“Do not feel so bad, Sylvanas.” He said. “If anything, the boy should thank you.”

His voice circled around her, echoing in her head. 

“Now N’zoth cannot corrupt him. The whispers cannot torment him. He is free. He will never have to worry about becoming another Arthas...”

Sylvanas shooed the voice again and ran.

-...-

The moon was lowering in the sky when he awoke. 

Anduin opened his eyes to see the sky, knowing that soon it would be sunrise, but that was all his mind could determine. 

Sitting up, he felt slightly dizzy, slightly chilly, a bit off put. He was confused, feeling the grass below him, seeing the endless amount of trees surround him. Vaguely he remembered running off into the forest after Sylvanas. 

Shit.

Anduin stood up, cringing when he felt a sick sloppy wet mess under his hands. He looked down slightly to see a red and pink mess of what looked like throw up. He tried his best to wipe his hands on the grass, giving little attention to the mess. 

He’d let Sylvanas escape. 

He could hardly remember what happened, but it was likely he’d passed out. 

He dreaded returning to the compound a failure, and dreaded having to tell the other Horde and Alliance leaders that he’d failed in watching over Sylvanas Windrunner not even two days into her capture. 

The king limped all the way back to the compound, the walk itself well over an hour. 

As he entered, he saw the guards step in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Halt, Forsaken!” One said, their voice loud and deep. “Identify yourself!” 

Anduin was caught slightly off guard by the forsaken comment, wondering if he really looked that sick. He brushed back his bangs, stood a little straighter, and began to address them, but what cut off. 

“K-KING ANDUIN!?” One of the other guards recognized him. 

Anduin looked up at the guards to see horror in their faces. Confused, Anduin looked down at himself for the first time since he awoke and saw red. 

Blood covered him, and as his hands gently touched his wounds, he found nothing but hole after hole after hole. 

His arms shook as he touched, slowly, carefully, into one rather large, deep cut, and found nothing in it’s place. 

His heart was not in his chest. 

A memory of the strange wet throw up beside him on the grass flashed in his eyes

And he broke. 

Anduin collapsed to his aching knees. 

-...-


End file.
